El sopor / José Antonio Ramos Sucre


I can’t move my sleepy, empty head. The discomfort has dissipated understanding. I am a stone from the sterile landscape.
     The ghost with an imperious frown came in the secret of the shade and placed on my forehead its glacial hand. By its side was the outline of a black mastiff.
     I have felt, in its presence and during the night, the continuous din of thunder. The stampede was wounding the root of the world.
     Morning startled me far from my house and under the influence of the lethargic vision.
     The sun gilds my hair and begins to stir my shapeless thoughts.
     Collapsed on the rostrum, I represent the simulacrum of a dejected leader on top of his broken sword, in an ancient war.

Las formas del fuego (1929)

{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

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